An Inevitable Outcome
by Grav
Summary: Well, they are married after all. This sort of thing was really to be expected.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It's very late when he comes home, long after dinner and though he hopes she might have waited up for him, stitching by the hearth, he is not really expecting it. Indeed, the lamps are all turned down and the fire is already banked. Their small set of rooms is so familiar that he barely needs light to navigate them. He can see the dark shape of her in bed, so he retreats to his room to dress for bed as quietly as he can.

It's mildly inconvenient, at times, to keep his office and her receiving room in the centre of the Mountain, and their quarters so close to the edge. In the half-decade since they wed, they have discussed moving to a suite that better suits their needs, but every time they get serious about it, he remembers how she likes the windows and she remembers how he likes the privacy. Neither of them were precisely born to the stations they hold, and they both appreciate having a space in which they do not have to be Prince and Lady of the Mountain. That's worth the walk, and the occasional missed evening meal. Sigrid's only concern is the added stress to the royal guard, having to man posts so isolated, but the Mountain is at peace, and they have assured her they do not mind.

Fili strips to his linen shirt and leggings, and takes his time combing out his beard. The lateness of his return is the result of a particularly knotty trade agreement with the Mirkwood elves, and even with Kili to serve as emissary, taking most of the pressure of him, Fili is still keyed up about it. There's no point in going to bed and flailing around. If nothing else, he'd wake his wife, and he doesn't want to do that. Thus, it's not until he crawls under the covers, close enough now that he can see Sigrid better despite the dark, that he realizes she is not asleep.

"Sigrid?" he asks. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," she says. Her voice is very thin.

"Are you ill?" He half rises in concern. She still has not turned to look at him.

"No, only tired," she replies. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, love," he tells her. "It's very late."

He imagines that will be the end of it, except now her shoulders are shaking, and she is holding her breath like she is trying not to cry. He throws the blankets off of them entirely, and turns up the wick on the bedside lamp.

"Sigrid!"

She's still in her day-dress, one of the ones she wears to work in the stillroom. Her hair is coming out of its braids, and her face is tear-streaked, though she is not outwardly crying now. He pulls her into his arms and she stills for a moment.

"Tell me," he says.

"I - " It sticks in her throat the first time, and she coughs. "I'm with child."

For a breath, he is stunned into silence. Then, he can't help it: he lets out a joyous whoop at the news, and bends his head to kiss her. They've been married almost five years now, and while that's not long for a dwarf, it's long for a human. It's not like they haven't taken plenty of opportunities. It's a few moments before he realizes that she is not responding to the kiss, as stiff in his arms as though she were frozen there.

"Sigrid, I don't understand," he says. "These are glad tidings, are they not?"

At this, she truly does cry. Fili is beginning to panic, though he doesn't know the why of it yet. Sigrid is no longer shy of her emotions around him, but she has never been this...vulnerable, and he can't say that he is enjoying it.

"Fili," she says at last. "This is how my mother died. It was Tilda, and she was small. Fili, she was so small."

Understanding, and horror, dawn on him. He tightens his grip on her shoulders.

"I've seen the dwarf babes. I've held them in my arms," she continues. "Fili, their heads. They're bigger than any human child's. What if I can't - "

He lifts her over top of him, twisting, to set her on her feet beside the bed. She's so light in his hands, and usually that is one of the things he loves about her. Now, it frightens him as it does her, because she is right: the slightness of her build that so contrasts with his might be a danger, and until this moment, he had not considered it. He sits up, and takes her hands.

"We'll go see Oin, right now," he says, kissing her fingers. "And I swear it, if I have to send a raven to every elf in Middle Earth, if I have to go to their halls and beg them for their aid in person, I will do it. Do you hear me?"

She nods. There are tearstains on her cheeks, and her braids are loose around her face, but her expression is determined. He wants to take her in his arms and never let her go.

"Get your coat, my love," he says instead.

She kisses him, and goes to fetch it from her dressing room. He takes a deep breath, not that it does much to calm the forge hammer that is his pounding heart, and goes to the door. The guard outside is very surprised to see him; it is the first time in all the nights Fili has lived here with Sigrid that he has come out of his room before morning.

"My prince?" the guard asks, concerned.

"Please go and wake Master Oin," Fili orders, his voice as level as he can make it. "Pray, tell him it is not an emergency, but that myself and the Lady Sigrid require him in his workroom immediately."

It will take longer for Oin to muster himself this way, but Fili knows better than to wake the old dwarrow in his bedchamber.

"At once, my prince," the guard says, and lays his shield down so that he can take the twisting corridors at a run. It's an urgency Fili understands, and the guard doesn't even know the problem yet.

When he turns, Sigrid is there. She's wrapped in a fine blue coat and has tied back her hair in simple coils. She holds his coat out to him, and he puts it on as he searches for the sturdy shoes he wears when his boots are not required. Once they're both decent, he takes her hand in his, and leads her out into the corridor.

They walk sedately, but with purpose. There's no point in rushing, as it will take Oin some time to reach their meeting point, and Fili has no desire to be seen dashing through the Mountain by a late-awake gossip monger, and he doubts Sigrid does either. They do not speak, but Sigrid's hold on his hand is tight, and he squeezes back from time to time.

The lamps are lit in Oin's workroom when they reach it, and Fili can hear the hiss of water sizzling off the side of a hastily filled kettle. He holds the door for Sigrid, and then follows her inside.

* * *

"Princeling, my lady," Oin says, nodding to each of them in turn as they sit.

He's never been the sort to let Fili forget that, once upon a time, he was a scrappy badger with somewhat limited common sense. It's something Fili is grateful for, particularly when he feels the pressures of the Mountain bearing down on him. He's also glad that Oin is too practical waste time remonstrating them for waking him: he knows there must be a reason.

"Out with it, then," Oin says, slightly too loud as always, and Fili hesitates, looking sideways at his wife.

Sigrid makes a vague gesture with her hands, and he nods. She'd have to shout to get Oin to hear her, and Fili understands that that would be better avoided. As quickly as he can, he signs the details to Oin, who lights up at the news, as Fili had known he would, and then quickly becomes solemn when Fili explains the issues they fear.

When they are done, Oin gets up and comes around the table to sit next to Sigrid on the bench. This way, she can speak directly into his ear.

"My lady," he starts, and then remembers not to yell at her. "I apologize, but I must ask you some direct questions about your mother."

Sigrid nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Fili wraps his arms around her waist.

"When she died, did the midwives have any ideas as to the cause?" he asks.

"Sh-she," Sigrid stutters, and then takes a breath. "She seemed fine, at first. I remember that, because she nursed Tilda. They said it would help stop the bleeding."

Oin nods, and the kettle begins to whistle. Fili presses a kiss beneath Sigrid's ear, and get up to see to the tea.

"There was a lot of blood, the midwife said, but not so much that they were worried," Sigrid continues. "But then the next morning, her fever was so high. She could barely hold Tilda, and couldn't nurse her at all. Da was out on the barge, because the midwife said it was safe. I held Tilda, but I couldn't feed her, so she just wailed and wailed, and Mama cried because she was so ill."

Fili returns to the table with three cups, even though he is sure no one is actually interested in the tea. He leaves his on the table, in favour of putting his arms around is wife again. She leans back against him, and he sighs into her hair.

"I couldn't leave the house because there was no one to mind Tilda and Bain," Sigrid continues. "No one came, even though there must have been quite the racket. When Da finally came home, I thought he would fix everything, but even though he went for the midwife again, there was nothing to be done."

His brave girl is still not crying, but Fili rather thinks he might. They've not spoken much of their deceased parents, but it hurts him to imagine her, not more than eight years old, stuck in the house with an ailing Ma and two siblings she wasn't yet old enough to care for.

"She d-died two days later," Sigrid chokes out. Fili kisses the back of her head, and she moves further into the circle of his arms.

Oin takes her chin gently in his old hands, and makes her look directly at him.

"Lass," he says, his voice softer than Fili has heard it in years. "I can only imagine what that was like, to lose you mam so young, and have to take charge as you did."

"You lost a Mountain," Sigrid reminds him.

"Aye," he says, "but I did not lose as much as others did. I still had my whole family, and most of our trade was outside Erebor. Others were much worse off."

He shudders briefly at the memory, and releases his hold on Sigrid's face. She doesn't look back down.

"Lass, this is good news," Oin says, coming out of his memories. "Hard as that is to hear, I am sure. But it's true nonetheless. Your mother didn't die from bleeding, nor because your sister was too big for her to safely bear."

"She didn't?" Sigrid sounds confused.

"No, lady," Oin says. "She died of an infection. On the battlefield, wounds can take poison and carry it into the blood. The same can happen in childbirth. That's what she died of."

Sigrid says nothing, and Fili breaks his silence.

"I'm sure I understand, cousin," he says. "Won't there still be a risk?"

"There is always a risk," Oin says, eyes still on Sigrid. She straightens in Fili's arms. "But we are better equipped in Erebor than they were in Laketown."

Sigrid bristles, instinctively coming to the defense of her homeland, and Oin lays a hand upon her arm.

"Peace, lass," he says, the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his weathered lips. "In Dale, since the rebuilding, there have been fewer deaths from childbed fever, and far fewer babes have perished in their first year. We all learn together."

"What if the baby is too big?" Sigrid asks, her voice quiet. "I'm no healer, but even I can see the difference between my hips and a dwarrowdam's."

"That is my chief concern," Oin says. He takes a long drink of his cooling tea. "If there is a danger, we can always induce labour early."

"Won't that put the child at risk?" Sigrid asks.

"It will," Oin tells her frankly. "We may have to make some hard choices, my lady, but we will make them together, and ask for help if we need it. Have you an idea of how far along you are?"

"Eight weeks," Sigrid says softly.

Fili does the tally automatically. Eight weeks ago, he left for the Iron Hills for a month and a half. He remembers that night before his departure with astonishing clarity.

"I'm sorry, Fili," she says, turning. "I wanted to be sure. And I was afraid."

She's carried this alone, and never let him see her fear. Or maybe he, preoccupied with the elves since his return, had simply failed to see it. No more, he promises her silently. He will bear as much of this as he possibly can, to spare her and to share her worries.

"It's all right, love," he tells her, and she nestles back against his chest.

"Tomorrow I will do a proper examination," Oin says. "Do you think you'll need something to help you sleep? The teas I have won't harm the baby in any way."

"No, thank you, I'll be fine," Sigrid says.

The three of them manage to extricate themselves from the bench, leaving two untouched tea cups behind them. Fili thanks Oin, and apologizes for waking him, and then he and Sigrid set out for their suite again. The guard is back at his post when they return, and opens the door for them. He doesn't say anything, but Fili nods at him, half in thanks, and half to assure him that the situation has abated, for now.

That, of course, isn't much comfort. The wait will be next, and he's not sure how exactly they are going to manage it. Once the door is shut, Sigrid wavers on her feet as though all the strength she projected in Oin's workroom has left her at once. He peels off her coat, and carries her to bed as she kicks off her shoes. Leaving his own coat in a pile on the floor next to hers, he crawls under the coverlet with her, and pulls her back into his arms.

He's not entirely sure what he expects, another storm of weeping or perhaps quiet breathing until they fall asleep. He does not anticipate the ferocity with which she turns in his arms and presses her mouth to his.

She is trying to provoke him. He can tell that, even has his body reacts. He rolls over, pressing her between his weight and the mattress, and she goes to work on his clothes. He is trying to process too many things, too many feelings at the same time, and it takes him until they're both naked to reason it out.

She has not kissed him like this since the cave-in. He'd lost control, then, both of them so desperate for assurance of the other's well-being, and he had hurt her, even though she'd denied it afterwards. He has not allowed himself to do so again, and once he realizes what she is doing, he shifts tactics.

He slides his hands down her arms, pulling hers off his back so he can link his fingers with her own, and bring them up on either side of her face. She moves under him, trying to regain her leverage, but he is relentless in denying it. He ignores her teeth, biting at his lips, and sweeps his tongue into her mouth. She moans, and stops fighting him outright, but she knows him as well as he knows her. She turns to subtler movements and sounds, and he wants, more than anything, to give in, but he won't. He won't.

"Sigrid," he says, releasing her mouth. He looks down at her as they pant for breath. "Please."

He has not said it in their bed before, not once in five years. Usually, she is happy enough to give him what he wants without his having to ask for it. She has said it often, though, when he has pushed her to her breaking point, and all she wants is release. She knows what it means, to say it now.

She softens instantly, and he kisses her as though they are only beginning, and he is not already hard and near delirious with want of her. Lips, eyelids, brow, and then her neck, her breasts, and he does not loose his hold on her fingers. He kisses her until he trusts himself again, and when he finally pushes inside of her, it is more deliberate than ever before. She whimpers in protest, and he allows his second thrust to be harder, and his third harder still as they find their rhythm together.

It takes every bit of his control to bring her to climax before he spends himself, but it is worth it to hear her soft cry, and to feel the way she curls about him when he would have got up to get her some water. He is beginning to wish that _he_ had taken Oin up on his offer of sleeping tea, when Sigrid stirs.

"Fili?" she asks. Her voice is small, but not thin as it had been.

"Yes, love?" he replies. He has no idea what she will ask of him, but knows that he will grant it.

"I need you to pretend that I am strong," she says.

"You are strong, lass," he says, without thinking about it.

"Fili," she says, and winds her fingers into his beard, "not like that. You can't coddle me, or wrap me up and leave me in this room for the next seven months."

He'd be lying if he said the thought hadn't crossed his mind.

"I'm not sure I understand, love," he admits.

"I need you to pretend that I am strong. That I am safe," she tells him. "Because I won't be able to. And if I see that you don't..."

He tightens his arms around her as he understands.

"I can do that, my brave girl," he tells her. He is surprised to find he means it with every fibre of his being; he's not pretending at all. "I can do that for you."

They sleep then, at last, and they neither of them dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

Sigrid gets lost in the corridors the first time she tries to find her way to the stillrooms on her own. Dis has taken her each morning before, and Sigrid had been sure that she'd be able to tell one stone-carved passage from another, but her mother-in-law is gone to the Guildhalls in the lower city, and she is lost, not five hundred yards from her own home. She is about to go back and try again, unwilling to ask one of the guardsmen for directions, when a voice catches her attention.

"Lady Sigrid!" It's Oin's too-loud call, and so she turns with a smile on her face.

"Good Morning, Master Oin," she says, when he is close enough to hear her. She's reasonably sure he still doesn't make out the actual words, but it's fairly obvious what she's saying.

"Yes," he says, and extends his arm. "Walk an old dwarrow to his workroom, would you?"

It's that or give up, she reasons, so she takes his arm and they go down the corridor together. Oin doesn't talk as much as Dis does, and Sigrid is able to notice more about the way the walls slant, and the shape of the marks cut into the arches they pass under as they walk. Oin also walks a great deal more slowly, which probably helps as well. By the time they reach the room Oin keeps for his daily use, Sigrid has remembered where she is, and where she is heading next.

"If you want an office, you can have the one next to mine," Oin says, fumbling with his keys. He doesn't really need a workroom, but Sigrid understands that he wants a place where he can work on his own, and he's only got his brother's family underfoot at home. Sometimes Sigrid felt like she'd had the entire city of Dale.

"I don't know if I need one as yet," she says, leaning towards his trumpet. "I'm not exactly in charge of anything."

"That'll come, lass," he says. "The cooks like you. That's always a good sign."

Sigrid had been cook for a household long enough to know that that was true.

"Thank you, Master Oin," she says.

"Cousin, lass," he tells her, pointing to the beads she wears on a necklace about her neck. A proper dwarf would wear them in her beard, and this is Sigrid's compromise.

"Thank you, cousin, then," she says, and smiles. She has not yet figured out her husband, but his family is kind enough.

Oin finds the right key, and disappears into a room that smells of camphor and tobacco. Sigrid wrinkles her nose. Her office, should she get one, will be better ventilated. She turns, take a breath, and heads with determined confidence to the stillroom she'd been trying to find before.

The others greet her when she comes in, and do not remark that she is, perhaps, a bit late. She sees two in the back nudge each other and smile, and her ears colour. She knows what speculations she must inspire, what things could keep a new bride in her rooms and make her late to her post. She wishes it were true, but Fili has not pressed her for his rights in the marriage bed again, and she is not sure how to tell him that she will be braver this time.

They've begun without her, of course, but none of the big jobs. They have prepared and cut and washed what they will need for the day's work, but they have waited for her direction in how to do it. She gives it without thinking, but afterward thinks about what Oin had said about her charge of the stillrooms and her future need of an office.

She shakes her head. It is too soon, and she has much to learn. So she takes her turn at the cauldrons, hot and smelly work though it is.

* * *

Fili doesn't notice when her courses come the first time after they are married, because it is the second week and he is still doing his best not to touch her. They talk by the fire in the evenings, and if she falls asleep, puts her to bed, but otherwise he does not lay a hand upon her, and short of falling asleep on purpose, she's not sure how to make him. The second time her courses come she thinks she will have to beat him off with a stick.

Instead, she wakes one morning to cramps that are a bit more severe than usual, and an ache in her breasts that means the blood will soon follow. She winces getting up, one hand on her abdomen, and Fili turns to look at her.

"Are you all right?" he asks, concerned.

"Yes," she says. She blushes rather fiercely. "It's just my monthlies."

"You look like you've been hit in the gut with a hammer," he says.

"That has never happened to me," she admits, "but I'd imagine it's similar enough."

He comes around to her side of the bed and tries to push her back down.

"Fili, what are you doing?"

"You can't get up if you're in that much pain," he tells her. There's worry in his eyes.

"Fili, this is normal," she tells him. "Well, more or less. Sometimes it's better and sometimes it's worse, but cramps are to be expected. I can't stay in bed just because it's my courses. I'll never get anything done!"

"Dwarf women don't," he says. But he lets her sit up.

"Don't get anything done?" she asks. She can't imagine this stopping his mother.

"Don't get pain the way you do," he says.

"Oh," she says. "Well, I'm still not going to stay in bed."

"I don't like–" he starts, and she puts her hand on his arm.

"I not exactly fond of it either," she says. "But this is how it works. So let me out of bed before I hit you somewhere you won't like."

He mutters something she's pretty sure was a remark about her temperament, but he gets out of her way, so she lets it pass.

"I'll tell the kitchen to send extra tea," Fili says. Off her look, he continues, "I'll be subtle!"

"If you're subtle they'll just think..." she trails off, blushing again. Damn these hormones.

"Think what?"

"That I'm bearing you an heir," she says, very quietly.

"Not even I am that lucky, my love," he tells her. "Not to get an heir so quickly."

"It's been long enough," she says. "In Dale, they would already be whispering that there was something missing from our bed."

He takes her hands, and pulls her into a kiss, long and slow. It says everything about how much he loves having her in that bed. It almost cures her of her cramps.

"Not for a dwarf, love," he reminds her. "We tend to take our time."

She'd forgotten.

"I'm going to take a bath," she tells him.

"I'll be subtle," he promises.

She is, at least, sure that he will try.

* * *

The lady in waiting arrives just as Sigrid's skin is starting to prune. She knocks before she comes into the bath. Dwarves tend to be a bit nonchalant towards nudity amongst their own sex. It's taken a bit of getting used to, but Sigrid no longer squawks when someone walks into the room while she's bathing. It's Maris, the one Sigrid gets along best with.

"I brought you a tea that might help," she says. "I made it very weak, though, because I am not entirely sure what it will do to you."

"Thank you," Sigrid says, and sits up straight so that she can drink without spilling. It does not have the best flavour, and her reaction makes Maris laugh.

"I brought you the mint as well, for after," she says. Then she sits so that she can comb out Sigrid's hair.

None of her ladies will braid her hair for her, even though she knows they're all probably more deft at it than she is, but they do like to brush it. It's finer, they've told her, like a child's is, but much longer. They'll twist it and she can tell they imagine what it would look like, braided properly, but they always leave that part to her. She understands why, now.

"Maris," Sigrid says, once the tea is gone and she is nursing the mint. "How long do most dwarf marriages take to get children?"

"That depends, my lady," Maris says. "Take Lord Gloin, for example. He and his lady were after a child right from the start, so it only took them about a dozen years to get young Master Gimli."

Sigrid is able to hide her smile because Maris isn't looking at her. Dwarf politics are complicated, but Sigrid has been able to determine that Kili is the one all her ladies view as irredeemable and his cousin is the one they all sigh into their pillows over.

"A dozen years!" she says instead. "Is that what they expect of me?"

She'll be well past her thirtieth year, by then. It's not unheard of, but it's not precisely common for a first babe, either.

"No one really knows, in your case, my lady," Maris says, her tone very diplomatic. No one ever says that they are not entirely sure the marriage will result in children at all. It is just as well that Fili does not lack for heirs.

"Still," Sigrid tells her, "if we went even half of that in Dale, Fili would be within his rights to set me aside and find a wife as could give him children."

Maris drops the brush, and pulls Sigrid around, almost too roughly. She drops the cup into the tub.

"My lady, you must never say that." The poor dwarrowdam is clearly mortified.

"It is the custom of Men," Sigrid says. "He would have to give me a house and a stipend."

"It is not the custom of Dwarves," Maris says, rather proudly. "You will always be his wife, and he your husband."

"I'm sorry," Sigrid says. "I didn't realize it would be so awful to you."

"Is it not awful to Men?"

"It is sad," Sigrid says. "But sometimes there must be heirs."

"Heirs you have," Maris tells her. "Now get out of the water before you wilt like steamed greens."

She never mentions children again, not to Maris or Fili or anyone else. She has plenty to occupy her time. There are news skills to learn and old skills to teach, and her husband seems not to care, so long as she is happy, and she is. She does not worry about it.

Until, one day, she does.

* * *

For two weeks, Sigrid holds her secret to her heart, sure at any moment that she will crack like weathered stone. She'd had every intention of telling Fili as soon as he returned from the Iron Hills; at six weeks, with two missed courses she was sure enough, but he had plunged directly from one political mess into another, and every night returned to her worn and tired, and the words stuck in her throat when she'd tried to say them.

She does not crack. Instead, it's like water rushing over granite; the slow but steady erosion and weakening of the rock. At last, a night comes when she cannot put it off any longer. She must tell him. If they are to make hard choices, they must make them before she quickens.

Despite her resolve, her courage fails her, and rather than wait for him in her chair, where he will see her, she waits in their bed. He's later than he has been in days, and takes so long preparing for bed that her nerves nearly fail her again. She is not worried she will fall asleep – she is too frayed for that – but she does worry that she will be so worked up she will not be able to explain herself adequately to him.

So caught up in her own fears, she is completely unprepared for the joy of his reaction, and does not respond to his jubilant kiss, even though she knows she ought to. When he senses her unease, he retreats, and finally, finally, the words come pouring out of her.

Then it is a whirlwind, or rather _she_ is a whirlwind. Fili is an anchor, a rock. He keeps her steady as he steers her through the corridors, and once they reach Oin's workroom, he does not let her go. Outside of dancing, dwarves do not usually linger when it comes to physical contact in public. Greetings are boisterous, she is still not accustomed to the force with which her subjects head-butt one another, but fleeting. In private, of course, it is another matter, but now Fili keeps his arms about her, and no one says a word about it.

Oin calms them both, at least on the surface, but once Fili has taken her back to their rooms, she wavers, and when he picks her up to put her to bed, she _wants_. She's not even sure why, only that she does, and so she turns to him and does her very best to provoke his response.

What she gets is rather unexpected. He does not simply take her, though she has made the offer plain. Instead he waits, holds back. Asks. He never has before; he has not ever needed to. He wants something, and she needs him. So she gives it.

Since that first awkward month, she has known he loves her. He says it frequently, shows it in countless actions. Until tonight, she has not seen the full depth of dwarvish possession; that dark want that her father had feared, even as he signed the betrothal agreement. Thorin's had shown itself in gold. Fili's has shown in her.

She does not fear it. Rather, she welcomes it, even as he takes her. If he needs her, then she knows he spoke the truth earlier, when he promised to go for help, even to the elves. She arches underneath him, and he whispers pretty things in her ear as she comes.

She coils about him so he can't get up. She doesn't care if they're a mess or if she is thirsty. She wants him close. He doesn't try to break away.

"Fili?" she asks. Her voice is so damnably small. She does not want to be this waif, but she is still afraid.

"Yes, love?" he replies. She's not even sure what she'll ask of him, but she knows he will do his best.

"I need you to pretend that I am strong," she says. That doesn't make sense.

"You are strong, lass," he says, without thinking about it. It's flattering, but it's not true. He could break her like a twig. Any dwarf could. She is so slight, compared to them.

"Fili," she says, and winds her fingers into his beard. If she lets him, he will coddle her. He will wrap her in soft wool and hide her in the mountain. If he does that, she will die. "Not like that. You can't coddle me, or wrap me up and leave me in this room for the next seven months."

"I'm not sure I understand, love," he admits. His voice soft, like he might spook her. Maybe he will.

"I need you to pretend that I am strong. That I am safe," she tells him. She understands at last why she needs this of him. One of them must pretend, and it can't be her. "Because I won't be able to. And if I see that you don't..."

She can tell the moment he understands too, because his arms tighten around her.

"I can do that, my brave girl," he tells her. She doesn't doubt him, but she will still do her best to make sure. "I can do that for you."

In the morning, he braids a new plait into his hair, and then a matching one into hers. When she sees his hands shake, she pretends that it is only because he is tired from being up so late.

* * *

To Be Continued


End file.
